


play your game and walk away

by achillese



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Character Death, Gen, Language, Minor Violence, Post-Hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-16
Updated: 2013-04-16
Packaged: 2017-12-08 16:30:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/763547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/achillese/pseuds/achillese
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adam hates being wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	play your game and walk away

**Author's Note:**

> I had a horrible day in class last year where I wanted to kick my professor in the face, so as a way of getting my rage out, my roommate challenged me to write this. The pen was part of the challenge, as was Becky as Adam's professor.

“No, Mr. Milligan. I’m sorry but that’s incorrect.”

Adam narrowed his eyes at Ms. Rosen. He was pretty sure he had the right answer. Pretty fucking sure. So yeah, he’d been to Hell and back and spent the last couple of months stitching together whatever was left of his sanity, but he was still capable of reading _Oliver_ fuckin’ _Twist_ and understanding that the character Monks’ real name was Edward Leeford. Problem was, the pretty and peppy Ms. Rosen had a stick so far up her ass it might as well be coming out of the top of her head, and she hated admitting she was wrong about anything, hated it almost as much as Adam hated being wrong. Except this time, he wasn’t. 

It was such a small thing – trivial, really, and very petty – but the way she looked at him afterwards like she suspected he didn’t read the book at all just ground into all the wrong nerves in his body, all the little places he’d been scraped at and burned. He squared his jaw and stared back at her, eyes never wavering, and eventually she was forced to look away. He tried to keep his grin to himself.

The next two times he raised his hand to answer more questions, she shot him down, ignored him completely. On her next question, Adam kept his hand down; he didn’t know the answer. She called on him, of course, and when he said he didn’t know, she came back with, “Well that’s what you get for not doing your reading.”

The scars in Adam’s body rip at the seams and bleed out the rage he’d tried to keep inside. Again, such a trivial thing – college English class. Who would’ve guessed it would be his breaking point? 

Ms. Rosen called for a fifteen-minute break at that moment and the rest of the class eagerly fled the room to walk down the block and grab some coffee to pep themselves up for the remainder of the class period. Adam, however, lingered behind, fingers drumming on his copy of Dickens’ piece of shit novel that sat on his desk (with the pages highlighted and underlined; fuck Rebecca Rosen for insinuating he didn’t do his fucking reading assignment). 

“Ms. Rosen?” Adam called from his desk, hand raised in mock respect. “I think you got it wrong. Monks’ father’s name wasn’t Edward Leeford. It was Monks.”

Ms. Rosen looked up from her desk and gave Adam a condescending little half smile. “I told you, Adam. That’s incorrect.”

“Page 396.” Adam flipped to the page in his book. “It’s right there. I even have it highlighted, wanna see?”

He knew Ms. Rosen rolled her eyes at him when he popped the very sarcastic question, but nevertheless she got up from her seat and walked over to him, her heels padding softly on the carpet. 

As she leaned over his desk to look at the book, Adam kept talking. “I don’t find Oliver’s character to be very realistic, by the way. He’s too...what’s the word? Perfect?”

Ms. Rosen nodded absentmindedly, not really caring about the words coming out of his mouth. “Dickens meant to combat the idea that criminals are inherently evil, but with Oliver he went the opposite route and so his incorruptibility despite his upbringing in poor surroundings undermines what Dickens was trying to convey.”

Adam nodded like he actually gave a shit. “So instead, Oliver is inherently good and pure and perfect.”

“Exactly. So where’s this passage in the book?”

Adam didn’t make a move to show her. “No wonder Oliver’s so unrealistic. People are always corruptible, no matter how they’re born or brought up.”

“Yes, that’s one of the criticisms against the novel.” Ms. Rosen sounded far beyond caring at this point. 

“Like me for instance,” Adam continued, rolling his blue ballpoint pen between his long fingers. “I mean, I’m not a saint, but I used to think I was an okay guy. Eagle Scout. Honor roll. Got into a damn good college. Accepted to study abroad here in London.” He sighed long and hard. “And then Hell happened and...well, we all know how the road to Hell is made. It’s paved with good intentions.”

Ms. Rosen was looking at him carefully out of the corner of her eye. Adam could only imagine what she must be thinking, that maybe he was crazy or out of his mind. Maybe he was. Who knew? Who cared? 

“Good intentions like going back to school so I could become a doctor and, y’know, help people.” Adam spat the last words like venom. He clicked the top of the pen, exposing the ballpoint, before doodling on the cover of Oliver Twist. “But what people usually forget?” He leaned forward, closer to Ms. Rosen’s face. “Good intentions or no, that road is still going to Hell.”

He grabbed her shoulder and held her in place while his other hand flew forward and rammed the pen up through her jaw and into her mouth, skewering her so the very end of the pen was piercing the roof of her now-gaping maw. He twisted hard for good measure, never breaking his gaze from hers, wanting to see every second of her reaction. Her eyes widened in pain and she tried screaming but Adam released both pen and shoulder so he could stand from his desk, grab her around the head and snap. 

Instead of letting her body crumple to the floor, Adam held her standing there, first with his hands cupping her face but then he switched to wrapping his arms around her waist and crushing her body against his. Her eyes stared at nothing and Adam chuckled at the sight of her mouth open with the pen still jammed inside. Blood trickled down her jaw line and neck and stained his navy shirt but he didn’t care; he kept holding her up, swaying back and forth gently to some unheard music. 

Adam chuckled as he adjusted his grip on Becky’s body. “Y’know, we should talk more. You’re much more agreeable now that I’ve fixed you.”


End file.
